


The Age of Aquarius

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, F/M, Jessica Moore Lives, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Jess, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jess learns that she can share more than her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Age of Aquarius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clex_monkie89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clex_monkie89/gifts).



Jess knew she was going to love Sam the moment he stepped on her foot.

 

Jess had always been the patron saint of hopeless causes and lost puppies, and Sam Winchester was the best of both. Six and a half feet of the best kind of handsome, like he'd never gotten the memo that he'd left the gangly phase behind somewhere in freshman year. He'd backed up onto her toe and spent the next half hour apologizing while Jess had warmed up to his bashful presence and thought, _there you are. Finally_.

 

*

 

Moving in with Sam had left Jess feeling somewhere between elated and worried that she was some kind of hoarder. Sam had two duffel bags and a neatly-organized box of books. His stuff had cowered beneath her overflowing storage tubs and fit-to-burst Montecito High track bags.

 

Jess grew up with dogs. The incongruously-named Peanut had been one of her favorites. Half-mastiff and half terminally-insecure German Shepard, they'd gotten Peanut when she was a bedraggled puppy. Jess had spent hours holding her, combing through the tangles in her coat and making up stupid songs about how soft her ears were. As Peanut grew, and grew some more, she never seemed to fully grasp the concept that she was no longer lap-sized. To her dying day she crammed all hundred-plus pounds of herself onto Jess' lap with a duck of her head and one ear cocked to the side, as if Jess were suddenly going to tell her no.

 

Dealing with Sam was nothing new to her.

 

They split the closet evenly because she insisted, although her mountain of shoes looked a little ridiculous next to Sam's trifecta of sensible sneakers, sensible boots and sensible dress shoes. Sometimes she'd catch him in a futile attempt at wrangling her t-shirt drawer into folded submission.

 

"Where did you learn to fold things like that?" She'd asked one day, leaning against the door as he carefully lined up the cuffs of his jeans.

 

"My brother was a real stickler for stuff like that."

 

There was that sad half-smile and Jess had dropped it.

 

As much as Sam was achingly familiar, too big for her lap and too sweet to know that he could be fucking half of campus if he bothered, she knew he was keeping things from her. Things that might be his to keep for all she knew, so she didn't push or let it anger her. The briefs moments of worry, of knowing there were vast lacunae in her Book of Sam, seemed a small thing to bear when Sam tossed his jeans on the floor and pulled her onto their new bed.

 

*

Even before they moved in together, she and Sam had spent most mornings running together.

 

Jess hadn't had a ton of friends in high school, and most of them had been on track and field with her. These clipped, panting conversations were easy for her, their breath freezing in the morning air as they shared tiny slices of themselves with each other.

 

Jess learned that Sam liked beans, but only when he couldn't see that they came out of a can. He comfort-ate sugary cereals right out of the box and had never seen Starship Troopers.

 

Jess told him about the minor car accident she was in when she was a kid, about the time she stole an Almond Joy from the grocery store and immediately ran back inside to return it.

 

"It was all melted from being in my pocket. I still feel bad for whoever bought it afterwards."

 

Sam laughed, shaking his head as they rounded the bend of the track.

 

"My brother and I used to do shit like that."

 

"Yeah?" The up-lilt of her voice was the closest she'd ever come to asking.

 

"Used to run together, too." He turned to her, quirking an eyebrow over his flushed face and grinning. He was gorgeous.

 

"I always used to beat him," he yelled, picking up his pace as he dashed toward the final loop of their 7 miles.

 

Jess let him win.

 

*

 

The first time Jess met Dean, she was wearing a smurfs t-shirt and a pair of shorts that barely qualified as panties. She didn't plan it that way, but sometimes the universe granted small favors and Jess stood up a little straighter as Dean stared at her approvingly.

 

Hunting trips and a father Jess knows even less about than Sam's brother get tossed around. Jess knew a lie when she heard one. But these were the kinds of lies that sprout from a grain of truth, and Jess could sense the graying-in of some of the black holes in Sam's life.

 

She let him go, because he'll come back and if he doesn't he was never hers to lose in the first place. Maybe she needed some time to think, too.

 

She baked, because when does baking not make things better. She whipped butter and sifted flour and tried not to think about the way Dean had been pressed up against Sam, the easy intimacy of their bodies together.

 

She tried to study but it was no use. She was ahead on her calc homework anyway, and she was pretty sure she could bullshit her way through her comp lit presentation.

 

They'd looked good together. Jess leaned back against their makeshift headboard, letting herself think about it with a little thrill. She'd thought about Sam with other men before, about herself with two guys and what would that even be like? And _brothers_. There was still a battered copy of Flowers in the Attic somewhere in her old bedroom.

 

She closed her eyes, lip caught between her teeth as she imagined her own fingers were someone else's, rougher and stronger and lacing together under the floral mesh of her panties. It made her shiver, trying to picture Dean's tongue mapping out the body she knew so well. Maybe they'd kiss each other, while she smiled and stroked her nails through their hair, or maybe it would be all about her, flushed full and pressed between them. 

 

She grabbed her favorite toy from the bedside drawer, slipping it in and biting her lip. The last time she'd brought it out, it had gone inside Sam and that gave her a whole new set of images to ponder. She came quickly, blinking her eyes back open and feeling deliciously warm before she drifted off to sleep. 

 

*

 

Hysteria is a funny sort of thing. All Jess could think as she stood outside their little apartment building, huddled under Sam's huge jacket, was that she really needed to start sleeping in pants.

 

Sirens drifted in and out of her hearing, the flashing lights of the trucks painting a kaleidoscope over the milling crowd. Her hair smelled awful, singed and stinking with that horrible rotten egg smell. She leaned closer into Sam's weight, letting him stroke her hair and mumble on about needing to talk and explaining things and all she could think was that she should have been wearing pants. Obviously the important part about having your friend pin you to the ceiling while he lit your home on fire was that she should be modestly dressed.

 

Sam might have told her he was coming but it still surprised her when Dean appeared beside them, breathing quickly like he'd put his own strength into driving back. He grabbed Sam so roughly it jostled Jess, his fingers curling like he wanted to pat Sam down instead of just squeezing his arm. 

 

“You alright?” Dean asked, and it was such an absurd question that Jess felt the laughter bubbling out of her, even as Dean's hand pressed into her back.

 

“It was Brady.” Sam said quietly, the two of them exchanging a look so laden with meaning it could be another language. Jess wondered what kind of life could give them the tools to parse something so horrible, Brady's hollow eyes and the cruel smile on his mouth before Sam had dashed into the room and shot him, with a gun, Sam had a gun and how could she not have known that, how could someone from her econ class start a fire with a flick of his wrist and how could Sam say so much to his brother with just one look?  


“My cookies,” Jess said suddenly, looking between them as tears welled up in her eyes. She hadn't burnt a batch of cookies since she was in junior high and now they were ruined, cinder and ash just like everything else in their home and Sam only had one pair of shoes now.

 

“I know,” Sam nodded, tucking her under his chin as she lost her fight against tears.

 

“You're safe now,” Dean added, with another one of those looks that made Jess sob even harder at everything she had to learn. She could feel Dean next to her, warm and solid with his hand on her back. She watched the lights flicker, red-blue-red and closed her eyes.

 

*

 

“I can't believe you never told me,” Jess said, shaking her head as she leaned back against the bar booth. 

 

“Sammy likes keeping his secrets,” Dean teased before Sam could answer, and it's fond but there's an edge to it that makes Jess laugh a little more loudly than she should.

 

“Kind of a hard thing to explain, you know?” Sam offered, shrugging over his beer.

 

“No,” Jess rolled her eyes, “I mean, yes, I can't believe you didn't tell me about all the ghostbusters shit, obviously, but I meant the birthdays.” She tilted her glass at Dean and smiled. “You never bothered telling me that Dean and I have the same one?”

 

Jess had gotten the sense that five beers wasn't a whole lot by Dean's standards, but he must have been a little drunk because he leaned over the table and Jess' skin went warm and tingly.

 

“I can think of a good birthday present,” he said softly, and Jesus Christ he was sexy, lips curving open and eyes sliding shamelessly down her neck. Jess had spent a semester in Spain, and her host mom had been fond of exclaiming _colgar mis bragas en el techo_ under her breath when a particularly cute guy would walk by. Dean Winchester could definitely make a girl hang her panties on the roof to dry.

 

“Dean,” Sam hissed, his hair falling into his face as he shot a look at his brother. Dean turned to Sam and blinked, so slowly Jess could feel her skin tingling as his lashes swept back up. Maybe a muttered apology, maybe a friendly cuff to the head – whatever Jess had been expecting, it wasn't watching Sam blush red and melt under the full force of Dean's leveled stare, his face so openly predatory and goddamn hungry she shivered a little. 

 

Dean lips parted open, full and wet as he looked Sam up and down and Jess felt downright cheated. If a look could melt someone's clothes off Sam would be sitting with his bare ass on the bar bench and Jess felt her stomach flip.

 

“Guess there's a lot you need to fill your girlfriend in on.”

 

And then he was gone, leaving Sam stuttering and rosy-cheeked while Jess leaned back against the padded booth, pursing her lips and blinking back at the shades of gray sweeping into Sam's reticence. 

 

They went home in silence. Jess' heart thumped in her chest and the warmth of the bar stoked into anger as they climbed the flight of stairs to their shitty motel room. She'd waited and watched and tried to bide her time, but she'd just lied to the police about the blinding blaze that melted half her furniture and she couldn't be kept in the dark, not any more. 

 

“Just tell me. Everything.”

 

It was an ultimatum and it was ugly but Jess couldn't do this, not when she was down to owning the clothes on her back, half a bachelor's degree and the terrifying, eclipsing love for the man perching on the second bed like he wasn't sure if he was allowed on the furniture.

 

Sam sighed and bowed his head.

 

*

 

They fought, and Jess cried more than she'd admit. She spent a horrible three weeks by herself, running around the old track of her high school and watching old movies with her mom.

 

She'd love to say that she took it well, that she was graceful and open-minded and magnanimous but she wasn't. She was human and she was scared and when she wasn't furious with him she missed Sam so much it hurt.

 

She'd always liked making lists but these were things she couldn't write down. _Sam Winchester is fucking his brother. Sam Winchester is the love of my life. Sam Winchester will never really be mine._

 

No matter how loud she blared her go-to angry running music (Hole, _Live Through This_ ), Jess couldn't drown out Sam's stories about grimy motel rooms and long nights cramped in the backseat of that car. About not having anything else and never knowing any comfort but stolen kisses and shared beds. 

 

 _I don't know any other way to be with him._ Sam had said it and it was all she could hear as she pounded around the worn-orange spring turf of the track.

 

Sam and Dean shared things so shameful they would always belong to each other, no matter how far Sam roamed or how many demons Dean sent to hell. No matter how many pleading text messages Sam sent her or how many miles she ran, it would always be there.

 

Sam was the talker in their relationship, with his big splayed hands and the way his eyes could swing up and wrap around her heart. Jess couldn't put words to how she felt, not in any meaningful way. No amount of liberal arts literacy could give her the right language to deconstruct the tight knot inside of her, angry and ugly and coiling tighter as she neared up on the broad curve of the track.

 

Her ankle gave and she stumbled forward, limping to the side of the track with a stream of curse words that would make Sam blush and make Dean proud and what a strange thing to think. She sat on the sparse lawn by the track, heedless of grass stains or the lingering moisture of the early morning dew. She stretched her legs out and let herself cry, feeling the air burn crisp in her lungs while Courtney Love growled about doll parts. 

 

Jess and her friends had held a vigil when Kurt Cobain died, streaking their faces with cheap Maybelline mascara and penning heartfelt letters of condolence to his widow. It seemed silly to her now but she could still remember that early yearning inside of her, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of love. The kind that people wrote songs about, that got news coverage by Kurt Loder and made dens full of teenage girls cry their hearts out.

 

Jess limped to her beat-up old Honda and leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes while her breath steamed up the windows. Her phone clicked as she opened and closed it, snapping it between her fingers as her ankle throbbed at her. 

 

The list she composed in her head wasn't nearly as neat as the one she'd made when she picked Stanford over Yale, but it's a lot shorter. _I can live without Sam_. _But I don't want to live without Sam. A slice of him is better than nothing at all._

 

Sam answered her call on the second ring and agreed to meet her halfway between school and her house. If anyone could tuck his tail between his legs over the phone it was Sam, so hesitant as he took down the directions to the old lighthouse she could almost hear his pencil shaking as it scratched over the piece of scrap paper.

 

Jess gripped the steering wheel and clamped her eyes shut. 

 

_Just him. No one else._

 

She could do this. More than anything she knew she had to. Better to try and lose it all than spend the rest of her life wondering who else would take Sam in. 

 

Jess pulled out of the parking lot, wondering what it would feel like to be the girl with the most cake.

 

 

*

_A few years later_

 

Sam is a nervous cleaner. 

 

He's wiped the kitchen counter down five times already, and if a Swiffer could sigh with exhaustion their's would be flinging a weary hand over its ergonomic handle.

 

Jess is wearing pants today, not on purpose but she still smiles as she buttons her fly. She finds Sam standing in the kitchen, pushing his hair back from his head before it flops right back into place.

 

“You know he's not going to drive any faster if you can see your reflection in the sink, right?” She slides up behind him, touching her nose to the tip of his shoulder. He always smells good, like that first warm wave of air that comes out of the dryer. He grumbles and lolls his head to the side while she hugs his waist.

 

“We should totally make out on the couch,” Jess says matter-of-factly, nodding her head and tightening her grip on Sam's waist. He grumbles again but it's smaller this time, and by the time she walks him backwards to the couch he's laughing.

 

She's got her legs straddled over him by the time the door bell rings. They're kissing and she opens her eyes a few seconds early, just to see that look Sam gives her right before Dean comes back. Like he can't believe he can have this and then the doorbell rings again, longer this time, and he rolls his eyes, still brothers after all and that might be the best part.

 

Sam gets the first hug but Jess gets the first kiss, because Dean is obstinately chivalrous in his own way. Well, sort of.

 

“Where's my pie, bitch?” Dean drops his bag and ruffles Sam's hair. Sam leans into him and mouthes “I'm sorry” at Jess.

 

“Oh, please. Like I'd let him bake.” Jess rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “And where's my beer, asshole?”

 

Dean smirks and reaches into his jacket, that old leather one he always wears. Jess could swear she smells phantom leather for days after Dean invariably hits the road again.

 

“Got you something better.” He pulls out a square bottle of Johnny Blue and cocks his head.

 

“Happy birthday.”

 

“Yeah.” Jess smiles and closes her hand over Dean's. “Happy birthday.”

 

*

 

“God, I never get tired of that.”

 

Jess used to hate how tall she was. Emily Martin in third grade saw her with a green sweater one day and she spent the rest of grade school as the Jolly Green Giant. She still hated frozen vegetables.

 

But she can certainly appreciate the view as she peers over Dean's shoulder.

 

“I know, right?” Dean's voice is a touch too shaky for the casual tone he's going for but she doesn't tease him about it. She just presses herself a little closer to his back so she can feel the way his ass twitches when Sam swallows him down to the base.

 

Jess had always been a fan of her strap-on, long before Sam's dirty laundry got aired out. She bucked at the notion that it made her feel “powerful”, like some of the really questionable nail salon magazines she'd read claimed. It just made her feel turned on as fuck because anyone with an ounce of sense and something vaguely cylindrical would jump at the chance to fuck Sam Winchester in the ass. She'd never really seen the point of him giving her a blowjob. If his head was between her legs she had plenty of non-silicone things that needed attention. 

 

The first time she'd watched Sam and Dean together it had been hot, and weird, weird in that “this should be weird but I'm too busy spontaneously combusting to notice” way. She'd spent days skittishly imagining what Sam would look like with Dean, with Dean's cock in his mouth and it was stranger to imagine that than Sam getting fucked, oddly. But then she'd watched the way Sam sank to his knees, timid at first while he kept glancing back at her but losing himself before long until she could almost feel every wet choking noise he made in her bones.

 

She could watch Sam suck a dick for the rest of her life.

 

She threads her fingers over Dean's, where they're already latched tight in Sam's hair just the way he likes. She doesn't hold tight, just lets her hand go along for the ride as Dean leans his head back and groans. She fits her mouth over the curve of his shoulder, letting her teeth graze over muscle as it flexes beneath her. 

 

Sam's hair falls forward where it isn't clenched in Dean's hand, and she's glad she'd talked him into keeping the bangs the last time he went for a haircut. They make his eyes look that much prettier as he looks up at both of them, and they're a little wet around the edges because Sam doesn't do anything by halves, certainly not when it comes to his brother.

 

Dean smells skin-warm and gritty to the dryer-fresh of Sam, like he's as economical with his cleanliness as he is generous with his praise of Sam. While Dean lacked much of Sam's simmering violence and flood-gate rush of rough and ready in bed, he had a fucking mouth on him that could curl Jess' toes when his tongue wasn't doing the job.

 

“That's it, Sammy.” Dean's voice rumbles like his engine, neck craning as he turns to arch an eyebrow at Jess. “Not too deep, baby, don't want to tire yourself out.” He's still got one hand in Sam's hair while his other finds Jess', pulling her in for a kiss that tastes like all three of them and a hint of Johnny Blue.

 

“I want you to eat her pussy while I fuck you.”

 

Sam groans and Dean grins and Jess shivers and hides her face in the warm curve of Dean's neck. Jess loves birthdays.

 

 

*

 

Jess wakes up to the scent of coffee and a thick wave of Sam's hair plastered to her neck. He'd forbidden her from telling Dean about his secret nickname, but she's sure Dean already has his own version of “Furry Cuddle Octopus of Doom” for Sam's endless-limbed morning embrace.

 

She disentangles herself with a minimal amount of displeased mewling from Sam and pads towards the kitchen. Her thighs have that good sort of ache to them, the kind of discomfort that makes her smile during classes. 

 

She stops short in the doorway, watching the light filter through the ombre curtains that hang lop-sided over her sink. One of Sam's old t-shirts stretches across Dean's back as he leans his elbows on the kitchen table. He's flipping through one of her old copies of The Atlantic while a chipped mug steams quietly beside him. Dean didn't always stay through the mornings, and Jess leans her head against the pockmarked doorframe. She wishes Sam had been the first one up for once. It would make him smile.

 

Jess had owned plenty of dogs growing up, but she'd had just as many cats. Seymour, a sloe-eyed Russian Blue with a penchant for mousing and deep hatred of curtains, had made so many valiant escape attempts that her mother had eventually let him out. He'd wandered back when he pleased, depositing gifts of both the living and dead varieties and enduring Jess' backyard ear scratches. One day, when Jess was a sophomore and the last heat wave of late summer had broken open into the cooling curl of fall, Seymour came back to stay. 

 

“Coffee _and_ donuts?” Jess ambles in lazily, letting her bare hip brush against Dean's shoulder before she peers into the striped box. She pulls out a bear claw, still warm and sticking sugar to her fingertips, before she turns to lean against the counter. The appreciative look Dean gives her makes her happy that she'd gotten over that brief period of wearing pajama pants.

 

“Only the best for the birthday girl.” He salutes her with a French Cruller and grins.

 

“So I was thinking, once My Little Sasquatch in there wakes up, we could drive out and do some target practice.” He leans back and takes a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug.

 

Jess is, on principle, a person who does not like guns. But Jess had found herself learning a lot of new things in the past years, and how to handle the kickback on Dean's sawed-off Ithaca 37 was the least of them. 

 

“I thought you said I was a natural,” she teases, cocking an eyebrow and curling her toes over the base of Dean's chair.

 

“You're not even a natural blonde,” Dean retorts, with the affectionate teasing that had slowly drifted from Sam to envelop her as well. Jess twirls a lock of hair around her finger and smiles sweetly.

 

“That sounds nice.” She pulls off a digit of bear claw and chews it thoughtfully. “Not as nice as spending the day in bed, but you're the birthday girl.”

 

“I don't have to be in Bakersfield for another 36 hours.” Dean cocks an eyebrow. “I'm sure we can work something out.”

 

She wonders what it will be like, the day he finally stays. Sam won't have to mope around the house like he usually does, and they'll finally have to address the realities of three people sleeping in one bed. But for now Jess just widens her eyes and leans forward.

 

“Bakersfield?” She lowers her voice. “Is it a meth demon?”

 

“I wish.” Dean laughs but he doesn't offer anything else, so Jess leans back in her chair and enjoys his companionable silence. The floor creaks behind her and Jess doesn't need to turn to see the satisfied look on Sam's face.

 

She licks the sugar off her fingers and smiles. 

 

 


End file.
